𝙎𝙃𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙒𝙎𝙈𝙄𝙏𝙃 | 𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙎𝙀𝘿 - 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙋𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙆

𝘤 𝘩 𝘢 𝘱 𝘵 𝘦 𝘳 𝘵 𝘩 𝘳 𝘦 𝘦

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three - the wolf-blood witch

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Quirina had been in Hawksbridge for all of three days when she first met the wolf-blood witch. She walked quickly, not looking where she was going, and barged right into someone. She jumped up, "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was walking," she apologized, helping up the girl.

"It's okay," she replied, seemingly distracted. She was tall, with fair skin, brown hair and icy blue eyes.

Quirina studied her for a moment, "Are you okay?" 

She shook her head, on the verge of tears "I don't know where to go and-"

"Oyez! Oyez! By order of the Holy Roman Emperor, for crimes most foul, including infanticide, cannibalism and the killings of the Lord's Servants on Earth in conspiracy fey-kind, fifteen gold denarii for the capture or death of the Fey murderess known as the wolf-blood witch! Any who offer aid, or shelter to the witch are heretics, punishable by burning!" The announcer called.

Quirina pulled the girl aside from the crowd, "Why do I get the feeling they're talking about you?"

She sighed, "Because they are."

"Oyez! Oyez! In addition to the Wolf-blood witch, by order of the Holy Roman Emperor, for the crimes of torture, maiming, cannibalism and slaughter of the Lord's Servants on Earth in conspiracy with demonic spirits and power over darkness, one hundred gold denarii for the capture or preferable death of the Wyrewolf calling herself the Shadowsmith! Any who offer aid or shelter to the Shadowsmith are heretics, punishable by burning!" The announcer continued.

"Ah," Quirina mused, "I was wondering when they'd mention me. What's your name?" she asked as they speed-walked away from the scene.

"Nimue. You?" She replied.

"Quirina," she said, "So, how many paladins did you kill?"

"One," Nimue said.

Quirina looked at her in shock, "Damn, I've killed about seventy something this month."

Nimue looked down at her in shock, "Explains why they're willing to give one hundred denarii for you." She looked around, until her eyes landed on someone. "Arthur!"

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The weeping monk lay against a tree and appeared to be fast asleep. In his slumber, he seemed to look many years younger, and more peaceful, in a way. His face was softened, but serious, cold eyes closed.

Something prodded him in the chest, "Get up, you murdering pig!"

Lancelot's eyes fluttered open to find a trident at his chest.

"Josse!" Squirrel exclaimed.

"Squirrel, you alright?" Josse asked and the young boy nodded. "Tie him up. I think we've caught the big killer. Look at the eyes."